


What You Can See

by MicrosuedeMouse



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, F/M, Slow Burn, UST, listing them all would be silly, lots of other characters also appear in various minor roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 15:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18013694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicrosuedeMouse/pseuds/MicrosuedeMouse
Summary: The first time Roy sees her – this daughter that he knows his master has, but whom he's never met – he's fourteen years old, and she, he later learns, is freshly eleven.-He spends most of his life looking at her, seeing new facets of her as the years go by. He'll never grow tired of it.





	What You Can See

**Author's Note:**

> Been puttering at this on and off, when I have time, since finishing FMAB sometime last month. (Before you ask: yes, it's the first time I've watched the whole thing start to finish, but I've been in love with this franchise for... half my life, now, good lord. I think I first fell for FMA and Royai sometime in 2006-07?) I have some more WIPs I'll be posting probably in the near-ish future... we'll see, hehe.
> 
> Takes FMAB as my primary canon with a few details thrown in from the manga.
> 
> Enjoy.

The first time Roy sees her – this daughter that he knows his master has, but whom he's never met – he's fourteen years old, and she, he later learns, is freshly eleven. She's peeking very cautiously around the door of Master Hawkeye's study, biting down hard on her lip, like she's afraid to interrupt. For a moment Berthold doesn't even notice, and Roy is just beginning to wonder if he should say something when she finally ventures, "Father?"

Her voice is very small, and it strikes him that _father_ seems like a very formal address to be used by a girl so young.

Hawkeye looks up sharply from the desk where he's reviewing Roy's notes. "Riza," he answers, frowning deeply. It's obvious he doesn't appreciate her unexpected arrival, and Roy quickly realises that Hawkeye is no warmer towards his daughter than he is towards his pupil. "What is it?"

She swallows hard and pushes the door open just a little further, eyes watery. "I was getting dinner started," she explains, fighting to keep her voice even. "But I– my hand slipped, and–" Roy's gaze flicks down and he realises that she's cradling one hand in the other, blood dripping through her fingers.

Hawkeye sighs, put upon, as he rises from his seat and crosses the room towards her. She lifts her bloodied hand for him to see, and after a moment he nods. "Stay here," he tells her gruffly, stepping around her. "I think the bandages are in the hall closet."

After a second or two, Roy decides he's not just going to sit in silence in the study while this girl holds back tears by the door. He gets to his feet and approaches her with what he hopes is a comforting smile. "Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

She nods, biting her lip again, and her eyes are wet but she's managed to hold the tears back from falling.

"Let's see." Gently he reaches out and pries her hands apart, revealing the nasty slice across the backs of three fingers on her left hand. He hisses in sympathy, automatically reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief so he can press it against the wound. Crimson red blooms across the linen, but he doesn't much care – he's watching her nervous face, hating the way she winces at the contact.

"It's Riza, right?" he asks her after a second or two, trying to take her mind off the pain. She nods again. "My name's Roy Mustang."

She glances up, considering him for a long moment, and he smiles again. "My father is teaching you alchemy," she finally says, softly.

"Yeah," he confirms. "Or that's the idea, anyway. We're almost three months in and he's still drilling history and theory into my head – he says I have to know all of it before it's even worth bothering to teach me to _perform_ alchemy – but I think I'm doing okay, so far."

She's quiet for another few seconds. "He's like that," she finally tells him. "He cares a lot about education. That's the only thing he spends money on any more, besides his research – making sure I get an education." She says it like she's clinging to it, her only proof that he still cares about _her_. Roy's young heart breaks a little at that. He knows she lost her mother years ago, and he knows how that feels – but still, he's left with his Aunt Chris, and for all that she's brash, she leaves no question about how much she loves him.

Watching Riza's face, feeling his heart soften easily for her, it crosses his mind that she's a rather pretty girl, under the layers of grime and anxiety that have built up living under Berthold Hawkeye's roof.

When Hawkeye returns, footsteps heavy in the hallway, she moves to draw back from him, but Roy keeps his cool. The man glances at them, his frown uncertain but considering disapproval, and Roy adjusts his grip on the handkerchief he's wrapped around her fingers. "I've staunched the bleeding, sir," he says evenly, as if it's all been a matter of pragmatism. "But I think it'll need cleaning up before you bandage it."

Hawkeye makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "Thank you, Mustang," comes his brusque reply. "I can handle the rest."

Hissing in pain as her father disinfects the cuts, Riza watches Roy for a moment longer, as if she's never interacted that way with anybody before.

 

Roy is seventeen the first time he sees Riza in a new light, as a budding adult. At just recently fourteen years old, she's growing into a beautiful young woman in spite of her father's stunting influence. Still somewhat timid, she's nonetheless a strong student and a hard worker. Berthold had had to let go of all the family's staff years ago, just before Roy came to study with him, and she does what she can to keep the estate together enough to live in, even if she can't stop it from falling into disrepair in most regards. Roy's been living there himself for nearly two and a half years the day he looks across the overgrown garden and notices the width of her hips, the length of her legs.

It takes him so much by surprise that he's distracted by it for a few minutes before he remembers that she's a kid. Over three and a half years his junior. Sure, she's mature for her age, and to a certain degree there's little harm in enjoying the sight of a pretty girl – but the revelation of her beauty is far less concerning than the emotions that come tumbling after it. Especially since moving into the dilapidated manor, he's come to care quite deeply for her, even if their friendship is far less developed than he often would have liked. She's warm and clever and he loves the rare occasions he manages to pull her out of her shell, but her father keeps him busy. The study of alchemy is, in the old man's increasingly obsessive mind, the only worthwhile use of Roy's time.

But he likes sometimes taking the time to help her make dinner while she quizzes him on formulas and facts. He can recite the elements on the periodic table to her while helping hang laundry up to dry. Sometimes, when Hawkeye sends him into town to run errands, Roy will linger long enough to walk Riza home from school, just for the joy of the half-hour chat. He very genuinely enjoys her company, far more than he's ever enjoyed a lesson from her father.

"Roy," she calls over her shoulder, and his heart leaps at the sound of his name on her lips, and he thinks, _oh no_. "Are you busy?"

"Theoretically," he answers, and she rolls her eyes. "Why?"

She points up to the edge of the roof. "The eaves have been overflowing into the garden here, and the water is leaking into the basement. I need to clean them out before the flooding does any structural damage. And I'd feel better if I had someone to hold the ladder for me."

"I can do that," he answers, putting aside his notebook and crossing the unkempt lawn towards her. In spite of the sun overhead, the ground is wet – there's been record-breaking rain this year. When he reaches her she smiles and wordlessly ascends the ladder toward the roof, rough work gloves on her hands and a bucket hanging from one elbow. Bracing the ladder in place, he watches her scoop wet leaves out of the eavestrough and into the bucket, forcing himself not to look at her bottom. She's practically invited him, and he's not letting himself fall for it.

He's not letting himself fall for _her_.

 

Roy's not yet twenty-one when Berthold Hawkeye dies in front of him, when he and Riza put the old man in the ground, when they go back to the estate and she reveals what her father meant when he said she had his research. He swallows drily when she pulls her shirt over her head and shows him the tattoo on her back. Maybe it's a little because she's disrobing in front of him, but honestly, mostly, it's the new understanding of how truly broken her relationship with her father had become. Paranoid and disconnected in his last few years, the old man had tattooed his encoded research on Riza's back. 

Roy is reaching out to trace the lines before he even realises he's doing it. "Why would he do this to you?" he whispers, hoarse. For the first time, he wishes he had never enlisted – maybe if he'd stayed here, continued with Hawkeye's slow and exhausting training, he could have prevented this.

She tenses, just slightly, under his cold fingertips. "He trusted no one else." Her voice is thick. It's not just grief – he knows her well enough by now to read how complicated her emotions are. And how could he possibly blame her? For years now Berthold had all but ignored Riza; he had certainly never treated her like a daughter. And yet, in his final moments, the man had begged Roy to look after her. And, apparently, he had chosen her as the guardian of his life's work, in a way so close and so intimate that she almost _had_ to personally approve and trust anyone before they could begin to study it. And even then, they would likely need her input in order to make sense of it all. Besides herself, only Roy had ever known Hawkeye well enough to hope to break the code surrounding the transmutation array in front of him.

"This must have taken... hours," he says, looking more closely, and he knows it's an understatement. He wonders, painfully, whether she had agreed to bear the tattoo or whether Berthold had coerced her somehow. Had she felt obligated, like she owed him something? In spite of their closeness, Roy feels like it's too intimate and complex a question to ask. The last thing he wants is to make her relive any of this more than she must already.

There's a moment or two of heavy silence before Riza feels a weight around her shoulders, and her head snaps up in surprise. It's Roy's military coat, thick and warm on her bare back. "It's cold in here," he says softly, his voice sad and hurt in a way that somehow _doesn't_ make her feel pitied. "I won't make you stand here half-naked just so I can study it."

"But you need to..." She doesn't know how to finish that sentence, so she leaves it hanging, chewing her lip. "You said that you could use his work to help people."

"I can. I will," he promises, smiling bittersweetly, as if it pains him that she wants him to have this. "But it doesn't have to be at the expense of your comfort. I know someone who owns a camera – I'll borrow it to take a photo I can copy, if that's all right. I’ll destroy it afterwards. And for the finer details – well, maybe we can sit down by the fireplace for an hour or two so that I can make notes, if that's acceptable to you. I don't want you to freeze." Riza seems so taken aback it breaks his heart a bit, but then she nods, resolute.

"As long as you promise to take your time," she tells him. "I don't want you to miss anything because you're rushing."

 

It's been three whole years when they meet on the battlefield, and old feelings leap up into his throat and then die there as he realises that she's only nineteen. That's far too young to be sent to the front lines. _Twenty-three_ is too young to be on the front lines, honestly, but it scares him more when it's her than it ever has about himself and his compatriots. It's both comforting and heart-rending to introduce her to Maes, to sit down and talk about the battle around them, catching up obliquely by reading between the lines. They don't discuss their shared youths on the crumbling Hawkeye estate, but the way they talk about the war tells them both what they need to know about the years in between.

It doesn't take long for Roy to realise that she's been hardened now, by the academy and by life alone and by who knows what else. In a way he's glad, he's proud of her, he's almost in awe of her – she's bloomed. She's outgrowing the cautious nature of her childhood, coming into her own as a strong and smart and capable young woman. He'd always known she had that potential. Beneath the surface of a girl who lived in squalor with a father who'd lost his mind, he'd always seen wit, drive, tenacity – and a survival instinct that he knew could carry her through anything life slung her way, even if she'd already lived through her fair share of pain. But he's also sad. It had always hurt him to see how life had treated her; now she'd been subject to even more and they both knew the war would only make it worse.

State Alchemists do a lot more working alone than any other soldier does in Ishval, and platoons fall apart quickly. It had been that way in the months since Roy had arrived and it doesn't change with Riza's appearance. They find each other side-by-side on a regular basis even before personnel is reassigned and their teamwork is made official. A lot of good men and women have to die before they're merged into the same squad, but something in Roy is grateful nonetheless. He hates himself for it, a little bit, but he's also learned that out here you have to take the tiny comforts you can get. If she's here he can protect her – and, he's quickly learned, she'll watch his back in turn.

"She's the girl you told me about, isn't she," Maes says quietly one night, after hearing Roy sigh in the pitch darkness of their tent. "Your mentor's daughter."

Roy hadn't realised that his friend was still awake. "Yeah," he answers. He's never told Maes how he felt about her back then, and he never will, but he knows Maes knows it anyway. It's one of his best _and_ worst qualities, and it's a big part of why they're so close. "It's good to have friends out here. Pieces of home. People you can trust without a second thought. But it's... it feels wrong to see her here." More honest than he's usually willing to be, but it's late.

"Of course it does," Maes answers, and he doesn't have to mention Gracia, or the two sisters from the house next door to his childhood home – the lifelong friends he's told Roy about on many occasions. Then, "You missed her, didn't you?"

Roy doesn't answer that. He doesn't have to; Maes said it to make him think, not because he actually wondered. As he listens to the rustle of blankets that means Maes is rolling over in his cot, Roy reflects that he'd come to believe he and Riza would never cross paths again, and he'd made his peace with that. Supposedly, anyway. He'd told himself it was a childhood friendship born of proximity, a silly youthful crush he'd developed because she was, for so long, the only girl he ever much saw. And frankly, the war kept him occupied, kept his mind far from frivolous thoughts like romance or what his late master's daughter was up to these days.

But now she's at his side every day, and maybe it's loneliness talking, or the deafening adrenaline rush of battle, but he wants her close at hand for as long as he can imagine. He'd been disappointed to part from her three years ago, but upon their reunion he's discovered that she's grown to occupy a large space in his heart, unbeknownst to him. Maybe it's true, that old cliché that distance makes the heart grow fonder. All he knows for certain now is that every time she saves his life he's more convinced he couldn't bear to be apart from her again.

 

It's past her birthday – not quite his – when the war ends and he finds her hunched over the grave of an Ishvalan child. It hasn't been quite a year since they reunited but in too many ways it feels like it's been lifetimes. He watches the grief pour from her in waves and he wishes he could lift it from her shoulders, wishes he could go back in time and stop her from ever enlisting, wishes he could _hold_ her. Anything to take her pain away. She's strong, she's skilled – but she's human, just like the rest of them. She knows – they both know – that there's no accounting for what they've done here. He wants to wrap himself around her and take her home and hide away somewhere where the two of them never have to face this atrocity again, but he knows she'd never let him. Knows they're _both_ too dedicated to the hope of a better future to ever leave their current lives behind.

When she lowers her jacket and begs him to burn away the secrets of her father's alchemy, so they can never again be used for harm, and so she no longer has to bear the weight of such a great responsibility, what's left of his heart shatters. The last thing in all the world that Roy wants, the very last thing, is to hurt her. He doesn't think, under any other circumstances, that he could ever bring himself to do it. But he knows that leaving the tattoo intact will only hurt her more. He knows that heeding her request is really and truly the only thing he could possibly do to bring her any relief after the year they've had. And more than anything else – more than he even wants to shield her from any further harm – he wants to give her some modicum of peace.

So he doesn't argue. He doesn't ask if she's sure.

"Let me get a doctor," he says, voice low and eyes downcast. "So that your wounds can be treated right away."

"No, Major," Riza answers him, not quite a demand, but close. They haven't addressed each other by first name since he left her home for the last time, the secrets of flame alchemy cracked and the methods mastered. "I don't want anyone else ever to see this. Please. Do it now."

He has to work to keep his voice from cracking. "Then at least let me go get water and bandages," he asks. "So that _I_ can treat the burn. I won't let you suffer needlessly."

There's a pause, and finally she shrugs the jacket back over her shoulders. "Fine." It's almost a whisper. She's still staring at the grave in front of her, and a thought occurs to him that's almost enough to make him change his mind – had she hoped to suffer? Is she using this as some form of self-punishment? "But please, sir... quickly. I don't want to carry this anymore."

Not even an hour later, her ragged, jaw-clenched scream is still echoing in his head as he pours water once more over the angry red wound. He pops the lid off of a jar of burn salve he took from the medical tent and begins to spread it, as gently as he can manage, across her back. Her whole body is tense with the effort of keeping her mouth shut.

As he unwinds a roll of gauze, he realises he's crying. He couldn't stop if he wanted to.

She helps him wrap the bandages around her front and he pulls them tight across her back, wordless teamwork to protect her so-called modesty, though sex is the furthest thing from Roy's mind right now. There will be days that he'll lament that they've only ever seen each other undressed in the worst and most heartbreaking moments of their lives, but for now he only wants to do what he can to soothe the pain he's had to cause.

When her jacket is buttoned back up and they're on their feet once again, she turns to him and he sees there are tears in her eyes, as well. They stand face-to-face, broken down, and finally she says, "Thank you, sir."

He reflects how disproportionately apocalyptic it feels to mark their second farewell with a quiet, respectful handshake.

 

Roy has just made it past his twenty-fourth birthday when he's promoted to Colonel and given the chance to assemble his own team. By now he's rediscovered his determination, in the form of a new plan to become Führer and from that seat, protect every single soul in Amestris. When he finds Riza's name and current deployment in the records, he rediscovers hope as well. It's little but a candle flame when he sends the request; the day she walks into his office and promises to follow him into Hell, it blooms into a raging, unquenchable flame. He has Riza Hawkeye at his back and his most trusted friends by his sides, and now he is certain he can do anything.

He's done everything in his power to leave heartbreak and guilt and despair behind him on the battlefield. They aren't productive now. He holds respect for the State Alchemists who turned in their watches and disappeared, but he intends to do everything he possibly can to stop such a massacre from ever taking place again. His team seems to have taken a similar attitude, driven to look out for each other and to bring change from the inside.

For a while he's occupied almost entirely by drive. He and Riza don't divulge their long history to the team – it isn't relevant. And he isn't distracted by her the same way he sometimes was out in Ishval. All he knows is that having her at his right hand, both watching his back and keeping him on the right path, makes him feel unstoppable. But he's playing the long game now, and though he never loses sight of his goals, the complete and total body-and-soul motivation loses steam over time. As much as he'd like to, he can't actually devote every waking moment to forging his path to the top. It doesn't work like that. A lot of days amount to little more than staying the course and doing the work that he's given.

And they're together every day, albeit without the pressure or the heightened emotions of the battlefield. The connection they still have is unmistakable. Even if they don't make their history public knowledge, it's still an undeniable factor in their relationship. It's part of why they understand each other so well, part of why he gets away with ribbing her in ways the other boys could never, part of why she can threaten and bully him into doing his job like no subordinate officer should ever dare. It's why they can communicate so much in a glance and why they trust each other, wholly and implicitly, more deeply than any other war-buddy bond their peers have ever witnessed. Occasionally there are rumours, yes, but most of the others at Eastern HQ don't even read it that way – they just murmur about how Colonel Mustang and his adjutant seem almost preternaturally in sync. They wonder at how any lieutenant and her commanding officer can be so completely compatible with one another.

While Roy uses his curated reputation as a womaniser for a variety of purposes, it does also help him quietly dispel any speculation about the true nature of his relationship with Riza. He absolutely does not want anyone to believe she's earned her position on anything aside from her own merits – once, early in their years at Eastern Command together, he had snapped and threatened serious bodily harm towards another officer over the mere suggestion. To his great relief the following day, there had been very few witnesses and the officer in question had been far too drunk to remember the confrontation with any kind of clarity.

And yet, something in him aches whenever he hears again that someone has been talking. Because as his single-minded pursuit of promotion wanes, his feelings for Riza emerge once again. And no, he doesn't want people believing that Riza's sleeping with him to climb with him to the top – but the idea of the two of them finding a way to be together, in spite of all the rules, is painfully enticing. He's attracted to her, there's no denying it. He can't even tell himself she's too young for him anymore because three and a half years isn't nearly as much of a difference now as it was when they were teenagers. Their bond is stronger now than ever, and there's something between them – he hesitates to think of it as _chemistry_ , but it crackles and buzzes in the space between them when they're alone. It's like a tension, a wound spring, keeping them close together and yet pushing them apart just slightly at the same time. It feels like if he were to push or pull too hard in either direction the whole thing would snap and fall to pieces in ways he probably couldn't even predict.

She feels it, too. Regardless of his doubts he's forced to acknowledge that she does. It's not a feeling that can exist one-sided, and even if it was, the two of them know each other too well not to recognise it in one another's eyes. That's all the acknowledgement it can ever get, because those are the cards they've been dealt, but the feeling is there and it never goes away. Not over months, not over years.

After Edward and Alphonse Elric leave Central again, bolstered by a shiny new State Alchemist watch and government funds, Roy and Riza find themselves alone in the office with the implications of a fifteen-year-old boy being granted a rank equivalent to Major. Roy doesn't want to linger too long on that, doesn't want to wonder whether he's really making the right move. So he grasps for something to say and before he knows it he's voicing a thought he probably shouldn't, even if he's been thinking it for a month or more: "I like your hair long. It suits you."

She glances up in surprise, and he carefully keeps his expression mild, hoping she doesn't realise that he meant to keep that to himself. After a pause, she asks, "Have you even ever seen it down, Colonel?" She's smirking a little, amused with him.

"Of course I have," he says defensively. "Remember, you dropped by on your day off a few weeks ago to pick up some paperwork you'd forgotten. You had it down then."

She tips her head to one side, recalling, then nods slightly in assent. "That's true. In that case, thank you."

He glances out the window, if only to keep himself from staring too long at her. "What made you start growing it out?" _I've known you for fifteen years,_ is the unspoken but understood second half of his question. _It's always been short, why grow it out now?_

She pauses, puts down her pen. "Last year, when we went out to Resembool looking for Ed Elric," she says slowly. "If you remember, I spent some time talking to his friend, Winry Rockbell. We're both well aware of how strong the Elric boys are, but Winry… her strength was of a different kind, but it really struck me. I've thought of her often. I don't know if you noticed, but her hair is quite similar to mine. Seeing it grown long made me wonder how that might suit me. And I figured there was no harm in trying it."

His gaze flicks back to her, out of the corner of his eye this time. She's smiling softly, one hand having drifted up to the back of her neck, fingers almost touching her hairline. She's beautiful, and he longs to tell her so.

Stay the course, he has to remind himself. This is about more than just her, more than just them.

 

The first time he sees her after the Promised Day, Roy is thirty years old, and he's dedicating himself anew to his lifelong goal of protecting those who need it – the Ishvalans, he supposes, because without his vision he's had to readjust his plans, though now Marcoh's giving him a second chance. The old doctor kept his promise, healed Havoc's legs first – "Can't believe you, Boss," murmurs the former second lieutenant, but there's a smile on his voice – and Roy's head is spinning with it all. These last few days have been a whirlwind and he's had to change his expectations a dozen times already but hell, Marcoh begged him, and doesn't he deserve something after everything he's been through?

He blinks in the light, so bright after days in the darkness, and in front of him a few blurry faces come into focus. On the left is Havoc, chewing a toothpick because he can't smoke in the hospital, and on the right is Marcoh, his good eye wide like he wasn't certain this would work. But front and centre is Riza, an angel with her blonde hair tumbling down over her shoulders and bandages wrapped around her neck, looking equal parts deeply worried and completely overjoyed.

Roy had known it would be nearly overwhelming to see her again, after resigning himself to a lifetime with only her voice to rely on. He'd expected the way that his chest tightens up, the way his breath catches in his throat and refuses to move as he looks up into her eyes. What takes him by surprise is the wetness on his cheeks – the tears suddenly tumbling down his face as he lays eyes on her, the most beautiful thing he's ever known, for what feels like the first time all over again. He knows suddenly that he'll never take even the briefest glance at her for granted ever again in his life.

"…Sir," she breathes, and there's profound relief in her voice, and he doesn't miss just the ghost of an R before she catches herself. Doesn't miss the tears welling in her own eyes just before she crumples downward onto the edge of the bed next to him and folds him into her arms, in spite of their teammates and Dr. Marcoh all watching. And Roy is unutterably grateful, because half a second later he was going to break down and pull her in himself. He only just barely registers as Falman grips the back of Havoc's wheelchair and very softly ushers everyone out of the room, closing the door behind him so the Colonel and his Lieutenant can have a moment to themselves.

The team knows they've just been through a lot together. There are no further assumptions being made. They don't have to worry about reputations – not right now.

There are more important things.

Roy is breaking down. He's been strong since they got here, since the battle with Father finally ended. Since he came to terms with being blind for the rest of his life. Now, for some reason, it's the sight of her that's undoing him, and for the first time in a decade he calls her, "Riza."

Her voice is thick, and he knows she’s holding just as much back as he is. "Sir–"

"Please." It's almost impossible to let her go, but he has to so that he can draw back and look at her face again, one bandaged hand trapping her hair as he cups her cheek. "I'm not looking for my lieutenant. I'm looking for–" His voice cracks. "...my oldest friend."

Her expression, haggard and worried and exhausted, softens. "I'm here, Roy," she tells him, so softly he barely hears it.

And then there are too many words caught up in his throat, too many things he _could_ say or _wants_ to say or _should_ say. "Thank you," he settles on, finally. "I'm– I could never have gotten this far, without you. Nothing I've done in the last fifteen years could have happened without you. I owe you – everything."

"I don't think that's true," she answers, smiling and leaning into his hand.

"I do," he insists. "And I'm not convinced I can ever repay you."

"It's not a _transaction_ , Roy," she tells him, almost laughing, and he marvels at how natural his name sounds on her tongue, like she never stopped using it in all this time. "It isn't something you have to repay. Like you said, you're my oldest friend. And I told you years ago that I'd follow you into Hell. Did you think I meant just to watch?"

Now it's his turn to laugh, only when he does, it's halfway a sob, as well. Then he looks at her for a long moment, eyes lingering briefly on the bandages around her neck, and he manages, "Everything that happened with Envy..."

"I thought that was resolved, sir," she says, not ungently, but there's a finality to it. She'll take no argument. "I understood what was driving you. But you stopped. You saw reason. That's what matters." Then, looking into his eyes and seeing that he needs it, she adds, "You're forgiven." He can tell that she's biting her tongue on _there's nothing to forgive,_ but she's not going to try to talk him out of the guilt he needs to feel right now. Just like he never tried to talk her out of the guilt she felt on the day the war ended.

These are the things they do for each other.

They share a quiet moment, clumsily drying one another's tears, grateful to still be alive and together. Roy has known for years that to lose her would destroy him, but he's come so close now that he thinks it already started to. For one tiny, terrible moment, before Mei Chang's blessed help, he'd held Riza to his chest and felt her slipping away from him. He'll be recovering from that for years, if not for the rest of his life. Watching her now, as she studies his face in return, he tries to commit her to memory as if Marcoh's cure could wear off at any moment.

"How are you feeling?" she finally asks, her thumb lightly tracing the orbit of his eye.

He was always going to be the first to break, he observes to himself, having already accepted it. "You're the best thing I've ever seen in my life."

 

It's been over a year since the Promised Day when Roy sees Riza walk out of her grandfather's office, and the old man turns and offers a respectful nod in Roy's direction before retreating back inside. If he didn't know the Führer so damn well he probably would have missed the briefest glint in his eye, but he catches it, and that's when he knows for certain that they're being watched out for.

He's suspected it for months. They've been quiet, but not as utterly secretive as they would have needed to be a few years earlier. It wasn't long after the Promised Day that Roy effectively moved into Riza's apartment – though it wasn't a very formal move. They'd never officially discussed it. He’d just spent more and more time there until he simply stopped leaving. And while they’re utterly professional at work, they also aren't denying anything, so it hadn't taken long for the rest of their team to realise things had changed. By now their cohabitation, if not exactly their romance, is common knowledge throughout much of Central HQ.

And yet, no one has ever said a word about it.

With Grumman in charge – the man who had cracked jokes about wanting Roy to marry his granddaughter for years before he appeared in their shared hospital room and Roy finally put two and two together – it certainly never seemed impossible that the entire Amestrian military had been surreptitiously ordered to turn a blind eye to the relationship. There had been talk about minor policy changes rattling around the human resources department, noteworthy only because they seemed like a low priority in comparison to the endless list of things to do as they put the country back together. Roy had mostly ignored that until he heard someone mention amendments being made to fraternisation laws. And most recently, there had been murmurs – no more than rumour, but still – that another promotion might be coming down the pipes for a certain Captain Hawkeye.

Now, catching that twinkle in the Fuhrer's eye, Roy is absolutely sure of it. Grumman, the old weasel, has taken it upon himself to reorganise the entire government, _in the midst of a nation-wide crisis_ , so that his granddaughter and his protégé can be together without risking their combined lives' work. And Roy can't bring himself to feel anything other than grateful, and maybe a little amused.

"So how is the old man, anyway?" Roy asks casually as he falls into step next to Riza on their way out of the building.

She smiles. "Oh, you know him. He plays at being useless, just to keep us all on our toes. He's as well as ever." And the way she meets his eye, he knows she's caught onto him, too.

 

Roy is thirty-two when he and the rest of their team – plus some – make the trip out to Resembool for Ed and Winry's wedding, and for the first time he sees Riza in a dress and he's allowed to hold her the way he wants to. Their relationship is still politely unacknowledged, and if they were still in Central he couldn't get away with this, but they're in the countryside surrounded by friends and he can be just about as in love with her as he likes.

During the ceremony he stands to Al's right, on Ed's side of the aisle, and she stands to Paninya's left on Winry's, and as the happy young couple says their vows they can't help meeting eyes and smiling. Later Roy has the chance to talk with Mei for the first time in over two years and when he has a few minutes to pull her aside, he thanks her deeply and profusely for saving Riza's life. She seems almost startled by his impassioned, emotional confession of gratitude, and tears up slightly, then laughs and takes him by the hands when he tells her he knows there's nothing he could ever do to repay the now-beloved princess of Xing. He's surprised suddenly, realising for the first time that day that in spite of her maturity and her growth spurt, she _is_ still just a child.

"I've seen you with her this afternoon," Mei tells him, her smile broad and genuine. "Anyone could see how much you cherish her. How grateful you are to stand side-by-side with her. Getting to see that is all the thanks I could ever need, General Mustang." Then, still gently holding his hands, she glances from where they stand at the edge of the reception into the revelry not far away. Flashing him a bright grin, she adds, "That, and maybe a dance?"

All he can do is laugh and agree, letting her pull him across the grass to join the others.

As the evening winds slowly down, Roy's heart fills to bursting with the sight of Riza enjoying herself amongst friends. He can't remember the last time he saw her so happy, so carefree. Hell, he can't remember the last time _he_ felt this light, either. There's something about these damned Elric boys that brings together the best people and inspires the strongest, most uplifting bonds between them. With Ed and Winry's joy and Mei's words on his mind, he waits until things are quiet enough that they won't be missed for a few minutes, and then he takes Riza by the hand and pulls her around a corner of Pinako's little house and kisses her against the wall.

Riza laughs, completely at ease in a way she rarely is back in Central, and loops her arms around his neck. "Hello, General Mustang," she greets him, well aware of the way it excites him when she purrs his title that way. Part of him wants to abandon the little plan he's formulated and just kiss her silly, utterly charmed by the glow coming off of her. But he's pulled her aside for a different reason and he can't afford to get distracted now.

"Captain Hawkeye," he responds, unable to repress his smile as he reaches for her chin and nudges her to meet his eye. "Riza. I just want to know. If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?"

Her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs, and then she begins to smile as the question sinks in. "Well," she answers finally, "I told you I'd follow you anywhere, didn't I?"

Roy laughs a little, a puff of air out the nose and a squint of the eyes, smile growing wider.

"I can't imagine down an aisle would be half as hard as into Hell."


End file.
